5Q4: Baby the Cat

The Art of Mooching

As a former kid and father to two, I’m familiar with the art of mooching. You sidle up to whomever has means or money, purr, in my case flash the deadly green eyes, and then trust your Marvel powers will get you that cookie or cash. So when I saw Baby, the neighbor cat who’s made the back area at Julie’s Coffee and Tea Garden her home, roaming in search of legs to rub up against I thought, oh you feline, I’ve been knowing you. Baby’s preference for the patio makes sense—why limit yourself to one human when you can have everyone, including customers and staff, reach out with their hearts and hands yearning for your attention. I’ve seen her pause for a pet, loaf in a lap, and be held by baristas who were immediately bumfuzzled by love. It’s incredible to watch someone maximize their star power. Not since I saw the Taylor Swift concert film had I seen anyone rule over a crowd of people and place with such thrilling innocence. Thus I caved in, and setting out a dish of half-and-half, lured Her Highness over to answer the 5Q4 questions. Her replies have been meticulously translated from meow to reader-friendly English.

At what moment did you discover that you wanted to be an artist?

When you’re raised on the mean streets of A-town and come from a large litter, you learn not to be a quitter. I saw my mom wrangle us kittens and use all her skills to curry favor and food—and, wow, was she good. Purring like Pavarotti, fur always pettably clean, she was the finest flirt I’d ever seen, so keen and coy she made everyone her personal cat toy. I knew then that to make it in this dog-eat-dog world, to purr and prevail, I’d have to use my talents, from adorable nose to wavy tail.

Who was the most influential person who helped you achieve your goal?

You’re probably expecting me to say another cat, like Garfield, or even Pepé Le Pew, that sly and flirty cartoon skunk bro, but no, my role model, my mentor, second only to Mom, is Kim Kardashian. Yes, Kim Kardashian. Never in the entire history of the world has there been anyone ever, ever, to do more with less, to get what she wanted and then some, all while not being an actor, not being a jock, not being a singer or dancer or top chef or any of those things. Kim accepted herself and then went about presenting herself—taking advantage of her God given attributes—until she became the greatest reality TV star in the history of the genre. Also, and you know this is true, she’s clearly part cat. Somewhere in the genetic history of her people, some kind of Vulcan mind meld happened, some kind of Face/Off or brain swap took place, making her the most kitten-like human ever. The way she looks over her shoulder to pose for the paparazzi trailing behind her behind, dear Lord, that’s a cat turn executed perfectly. I’ve never had the privilege of getting close enough in person to confirm this, but I’d bet eight of my nine lives that she purrs.

Tell about the best—or a best—experience you had as a performer.

I’m not ashamed to say I’ve been homeless a few times, or what some call feral. In the spring or early fall, it’s not bad, with our moderate Bay Area weather. And here in Alameda, there’s plenty of food available, be it the natural (as in still alive) kind, or food tossed out but still edible. Which brings me to my second-favorite place to live and mooch—Tomatina on Park Street—and how I got the gig as Restaurant Cat. This is one title T. S. Eliot ignored in Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats.

To begin, I’ve got the fur, I just do. It’s all variegated shades of brown, which draws attention to my tail which, bruh, can fluff fluffier than anyone I’ve seen before. I also am in no rush for, really, anything. I don’t run anywhere, I lollygag, work lanes like a runway, and yes I do swish. Of course I swish, we all do, and anyone that tells you different is a lying sack of purr.

I’m also big on Italian cuisine, so naturally I hung out at Tomatina, working their patio, hoping for scraps of their garlic rolls. And that’s when Luigi (yes, that’s his real name) saw me do my thing and decided to adopt me. I was so on that day, I’d just finished a deep fur clean, hair fully blown out, the man had no chance. He fed me prosciutto then let me sleep in the way-back to avoid any food contamination. Over time I got to sample their remarkable pastas, pizza and calzones. Mmmmmm, how I loved that man.

Conversely, tell us about a pretty bad experience.

Sadly, that also took place at Tomatina. I was living the high life for nearly seven months when I got carried away, snuck into the dining room during the lull between lunch and dinner, and decided to help myself to some parmesan. So I guess I knocked over a few of those shaker things on several tables and, yes, I got cheese drunk. Wait, you’re unfamiliar with that term, cheese drunk? It means what it seems, the act of getting tipsy while wolfing grated cheese. And given our sandpaper tongues, and the way freshly grated cheese takes on that soft/sticky quality, making it stick to our pink like hot glue from the gun, I could not help myself. In short, I made a mess, quaffed a lot of inventory, and server Alyssa, who I thought was my girl, put me out on the street.

Any advice to folks out there hoping to pursue a life in the arts?

There is deep psychology at work when it comes to mooching. You gotta make the mark think they’re in charge, that they’re the one benefitting from the exchange. Hop on a lap, slow down to get picked up, then curl into them until they start to think, oh, what a good person I am, look how this cat is letting me love them, which means I’m lovable, I’m worthy. Take that J. D. Vance, look who was just elected most adorable. Not you, weirdo, me, baby.

So yeah, work on your game, keep your eyes open for opportunity, hold your tail high, and all the riches of the world will come to you, often in a lovely saucer. Speaking of which, writer guy, we’re all out of half-and-half.

Gene Kahane is the founder of the Foodbank Players , a lifelong teacher, and former Poet Laureate for the City of Alameda. Reach him at gene@alamedapost.com . His writing is collected at AlamedaPost.com/Gene-Kahane .

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